Guilt twisted in Beatrice’s stomach. She’d been avoiding Connor—or at least, avoided being alone with him, since he was always nearby: hovering in the wings of her life while she occupied center stage.

He still didn’t know that she and Teddy were really getting married. She needed to tell him, and soon; the palace was planning to announce the wedding date later this week. But every time she started to bring it up, she found herself dodging the subject like an utter coward.

“I’m just tired,” she murmured, which was true: she still wasn’t getting much sleep.

“Don’t do that. You don’t need to be strong with me, remember?” Connor crossed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms, pulling her close.

For a moment Beatrice let herself relax into the embrace. Somehow she always forgot how much taller he was until they stood like this, her face nestled into the hollow at the center of his chest.

“I’m here for whatever you need,” Connor said into her hair. “You don’t have to be the queen around me, you know. You can just be you.”

“I know.” It was easy for Beatrice to be herself around him, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe with Connor she was too much of herself, and not enough of a queen.

She twisted out of his embrace, her eyes lifting to meet his. “Connor—there’s something I need to tell you.”

He nodded, clearly alerted by her change in tone. “All right.”

The entire world seemed to fall still. Beatrice was suddenly aware of every detail—the feel of her silk blouse over her collarbones, the dust motes slanting in the hard afternoon light, the devotion in Connor’s eyes.

He wouldn’t look at her like that again, not once he found out what she’d agreed to. Beatrice took a deep breath, and let the truth fall painfully into the silence.

“Teddy and I are getting married in June.”

“You—what?”

“The engagement isn’t just for show. It’s…we’re really going through with it.”

Connor recoiled. “I don’t understand. The night of the engagement party, you two agreed that you would call off the wedding as soon as it was appropriate. What happened?”

My father died, and it’s all my fault.

“I’m queen now, Connor.” The words seemed to strangle Beatrice as they floated up out of her lungs. “It changes things.”

“Exactly! Now you can change things, for the better!”

Hearing that excitement, his belief in her, nearly undid her. “It’s not that simple. Just because I’m queen doesn’t mean that I can rewrite the rules.” If anything, she was more bound by the rules than ever before.

Connor caught her hands in his. “I love you, and I know that we can figure this out. Unless…unless your feelings have changed.”

Tears stung Beatrice’s eyes. “You want me to say it? Fine, I’ll say it! I love you!” she burst out, so viciously that she might have just as easily been saying I hate you. “But that isn’t enough, Connor!”

“Of course it’s enough!”

He spoke with such conviction, as if the truth of his words was self-evident. As if loving her was as simple and uncomplicated as the fact that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

But their relationship had never been simple. From the very beginning they’d been sneaking around, living on scattered moments together: the secret brush of Connor’s hand over her back as she slid into a car, their eyes meeting in a crowded room and lingering a beat too long. The late nights when he slipped into her bedroom, only to leave before dawn.

Even now, no one knew about them except Samantha, and Sam had no idea who Connor was, only that Beatrice loved someone who wasn’t Teddy.

For months, Beatrice had told herself that those stolen moments added up to something worth protecting. But she knew now that they weren’t enough.

She thought with a dull pang of what her father had said the night she told him that she loved her Guard. That if she pulled Connor into this royal life, he would eventually come to hate her for it—and, worse, he would come to hate himself.

There was a cold wind coming off the river; Beatrice had to stop herself from going to shut the window. “This obviously wasn’t an easy decision. But it’s what’s best. For both of us.”

“Why are you the one deciding what’s best for both of us?” Connor said roughly. “When you’re making choices about our future, I want a damn vote!”

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.

There was nothing gentle or tender in the kiss. Connor’s body was crushed up against hers, his hands grasped hard over her back, as if he was terrified she might pull away. Beatrice rose on tiptoe, digging her fingers into his uniform.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily. Beatrice’s hair fell in damp wisps around her face. She looked up and saw the quiet anguish in Connor’s eyes. He knew her well enough to know that she didn’t normally kiss like that—with such wild, desperate abandon.

He understood that she’d been kissing him goodbye.

“You really mean this, don’t you,” he breathed.

“I do,” Beatrice told him. It struck her that those were the words of the wedding service, words that normally swore eternal love. And here she was, using them to tell Connor that he should leave her forever.

His jaw was tight, but he managed a nod. Beatrice almost wished that he would shout, call her cruel names. Anger would have been so much easier to bear. Anything would have been easier than this: the knowledge that Connor was in pain, and she had caused it.

“In that case, Your Majesty, please accept my resignation. I’ll be leaving your service. And this time, I won’t be coming back.”

He paused as if waiting for her to protest, to beg him to stay, the way she had once before.

Beatrice said nothing. She couldn’t ask Connor to remain here as her Guard while she married Teddy.

If she asked it of him, he might say yes. And he deserved so much more than that.

“I understand.” To her surprise, she spoke as if nothing was wrong, even though she hurt so much—deep inside her, in the hollow, lonely place she never let anyone see.

Connor’s gaze met hers, as cool as a mountain lake under gray skies. “I’ll go inform the head of security.”

Beatrice felt cold all over, yet she was sweating as if she’d come down with a fever. She watched, curiously immobile, as Connor turned back to cast one last glance over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Bee.”

When he was gone, Beatrice made her way numbly around her father’s desk. She still wasn’t crying. She felt like a frost had settled over all her emotions and she would never feel anything again.

She paused behind her father’s chair, her hands resting lightly on its back. She’d never sat in it before, not even when she and the twins used to sneak in here as kids, to steal lemon candies from the secret drawer and spin the enormous globe. For some unspoken reason, sitting at the king’s desk had felt as utterly off-limits, as sacrilegious, as climbing onto his throne.

Slowly, Beatrice pulled out the chair and sat.

“Mademoiselle Deighton.” The French ambassador sailed forward to greet her with an easy double kiss, one for each cheek. He was handsome, and a shameless flirt; the French never sent anyone who wasn’t.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur.” She flashed him a brilliant smile, grateful for all her years of high school French.

It felt like half of court had turned out for tonight’s event at the George and Alice Museum, or the G&A, as everyone called it. In celebration of Beatrice and Teddy’s engagement, the museum was opening a new exhibit titled ROYAL WEDDINGS THROUGH THE AGES.

Daphne’s eyes cut across the room to where Jefferson stood with Samantha. He still hadn’t said hello. Aside from their brief exchange at the Royal Potomac Races, Daphne hadn’t really spoken to him since that day at the hospital—when she sat there with Jefferson, waiting for good news that had never come.

The prince was grieving, Daphne reminded herself: he needed his space. Yet she couldn’t help worrying. What if he was no longer interested in her? Or, worse, what if he was getting back together with Nina?

Unlike Daphne, Nina could show up at the palace whenever she wanted, ostensibly to see her best friend. But who could say whether all those visits were to see Samantha…or her brother?

Daphne redoubled her efforts in the direction of the French ambassador: smiling her perfect smile, laughing her brightest laugh, being the most intoxicating, glittering version of herself.

Delighted, the ambassador introduced her to several of his colleagues. Daphne heard the click of a photographer’s camera to her left. She sucked in her stomach but pretended she didn’t notice, because she didn’t want the moment to look staged.

When people all over the capital opened the society pages tomorrow, this was the image they would see—the prince’s ex-girlfriend charming government officials with ease, just as a princess should.